


rain gutters & half-pipes

by megamegaturtle



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: F/M, christmas in july, it's one in the morning and you're trying to shimmy down a drain pipe?!, modern!AU, oh lord why are we going to a skate park?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 03:52:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4420226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megamegaturtle/pseuds/megamegaturtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's one in the morning and there are only two souls awake in the world: her and him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	rain gutters & half-pipes

**Author's Note:**

> This is for that anon on tumblr. They were awesome! :)
> 
> “ you saw me sneaking out of my house at like 1 am, what do you mean what am i doing, what are you doing outside at 1 am.” & “And that’s how we ended up getting arrested for skateboarding in the park in the middle of the night because they thought we were drunk

It’s one in the morning and he’s sitting outside in the cold.

He’s home for the holidays, the street decked out with bright Christmas lights and lawn decorations. His house is bare like every year since they’re Jewish, but in his defense, they do have a Hanukkah bush his mom bought on a whim.

This isn’t his hometown, Bog thinks, far away from the few friends he used to have in high school, but it’s a nice town. Almost too nice compared to what he’s used to, but his mom and Aunt Plum like it so he doesn’t care.

Christmas is only a few days away and he’s pretty sure that it’s going to be a White Christmas with snow falling down like a Hollywood movie. He bundles up his old bomber jacket around him, a gift from his father before he passed, taking a drag from his cigarette. The lights from across the street keep changing color, from red to green to purple–you name it–hypnotizing him as he sits in the bed of his truck.

That’s what he likes about this town, he realizes, it’s quiet. He can sit in the bed of his old truck, smoking a cig, and no one else bothers him. When the rest of the world sleeps, he’s the only one awake, feeling like being alone isn’t such a bad thing right now.

As he puffs on his cigarette, learning that he’s smoked it dry and snubs the butt in the ashtray. Being okay with idleness is new for him (this town does strange things to him), that’s one reason why he smokes, but he doesn’t feel the need to light another. He’s content watching the neighbor’s lights change in the distance, twinkly and shiny like colorful stars.

There’s movement on the top floor of the house he’s staring at, he notices. Maybe it’s a cat? But upon further inspection, he realizes it’s not a cat, its form too human as it climbs out of the window, scaling the roof towards the rain gutter.

He’s out of his seat before he knows it, running quietly across the street, trampling the grass. Who ever this person is, they’re a fucking idiot. They’ve seen one too many Hollywood blockbusters. He knows this because he’s seen too many blockbusters and knows what happens when you try to shimmy down a rain pipe.

You don’t.

You fall.

Hard.

Painfully on the ground. And if you’re lucky, you only break a wrist, if you’re not–well, wheelchairs are wonderful inventions.

But he’s trying to not call 911 this evening as he jogs up near the side of the house, trying to be quiet to not alert anyone downstairs, but loud enough so that the person on the second floor can hear him.

“Psst,” he hisses, “Are you fucking crazy?”

A head pops out from the side, peering over the ledge, brown hair wild and eyes burning as they narrow down at him, “Who the fuck are you?”

He sighs, slapping his face. “Look, my mom lives across the street,” he starts, pointing to his wonderfully undercoated Jewish home, “And I don’t want to call the paramedics. It’s the holidays, you know.”

Her expression is blank for a moment, before she breaks out in a grin, “Oh, you must be Bog.”

It catches him off guard, and he falters, “Um, I am….but how do you know that?”

Her grin is wider now, her teeth bright because of the lights. “You have cute baby pictures, let me tell you.”

He’s torn between going home and strangling his mother and staying here and helping whoever this less than reasonable girl. As she swings her legs over the ledge, he makes his decision quickly: he’s staying here.

“Here,” she whispers loudly, “Catch.”

Before he has a second to ask, something long is tossed down at him. He barely has to time to react when wood lands in his hand. Looking down at it, he presses his lips together in a firm line.

“Who in the hell goes skateboarding at one in the morning?” he asks, annoyance dripping from every word. “And for christ’s sake, can’t you use the front door?”

Her smile is strained and her eyes are tired and Bog feels like he’s found a kindred spirit, someone whose heart has taken a beating once or twice in her life. She scoots her butt towards the gutter pipe and shakes her head. “Can’t. My ex is sleeping downstairs and I need to get out of the house for a bit.”

He doesn’t even want to know. He should just go home, this isn’t his problem. But there she is, desperate enough to sneak out of her house from the second floor.

He makes a sound at the back of his throat, running a hand through his dark hair. Looking up, he meets her gaze, sighing “And I can’t talk you out of this?”

She smirks, “Nope.”

His shoulders sag, he knows when he’s defeated. “Alright, at least let me help you get down. I’ll be your spotter.”

She’s almost grinning like a madman, her enthusiasm rolling off of her in waves. She positions herself to shimmy down the drainpipe and he holds his breath, praying to every god that she’ll make it down okay. But as if the heavens above heard his prayers, she makes it safely to the ground without falling.

“You’re a crazy one, you know that?” he laughs as he hands her back her skateboard.

She laughs too. The sound of it is like music to his ears. “Yeah,” she mumbles, “I get told that I’m a little different.”

She’s short compared to him, barely at his shoulder. “Different is good,” he says in earnest, the admission coming from his heart instead of his head, for once.

She blinks up at him, tucking a stray lock behind her ear. She looks stunned. He can feel himself blushing and he’s mentally kicking himself for speaking without thinking.

He digs a hand out of his pocket and shoves it in the space between them. “I’m Bog King,” he says with a grin, tight and forced, but he’s trying to be friendly.

She smirks again, her eyes shining, “Yeah, I know.” But she grabs his hand, her fingers soft and says, “I’m Marianne Fairwood.”

Her hand is warm, slowly dispelling the cold that has settled into his bones and freezing his beaky nose. It’s almost as if she’s pressing a small ember to his palm.

But just as quickly as she warmed him, they pull away, the silence of the night being their only company–the rest of the world is still tucked in bed.

“So, you’re really going to skate?”

* * *

He doesn’t know what made him follow her, but he does, like a bug to a flame.

“So, you’re 26 and live in Chicago, right?” she asks as they stand outside the fence to the local skate park.

It looks easy enough for him to jump. It’s one in the morning and he’s actually going to sneak into a skate park.

“Yep, I opened up a bar with some friends.” It finally hit him as he whirls to face her, “How old are you anyway?”

“Didn’t anyone tell you it’s rude to ask a lady her age?” she jokes, but Marianne punches his shoulder. “Don’t freak out. I’m no minor.” As she squeezes her board through the opening, she tells him, “I’m 22.”

He rolls his eyes, but he can’t suppress his grin, “Who said I was freaking out?”

Standing up, she playfully kicks his foot. “No one  _had_  to say it,” she teases. She gestures to the fence, “Can I get a boost?”

“Yeah.”

He helps her over the fence and he’s clearing it seconds later, hitting the ground with a soft thud. She’s sprinting towards the concrete, her board in hand, shouting over her shoulder, “Last one there is a loser!” Her purple hoodie disappearing into the night.

And a hearty laugh pours out of him, his heart overfull and his spirit carefree. He’s chasing after her, his lungs filling with icy air, catching up to her with every stride because of his long legs. The moon is bright, casting white light over the park. For a moment, he thinks he sees fairy wings on her back, but they vanish when he sprints passed her.

He reaches the concrete skateable pool , but she’s seconds after him, both of them breathless. He puts his hands on his hips, opening his chest to breathe better, but it’s hard when his heart is racing this fast. He’s not sure if it’s just because of the running, either.

“Hey, look at that,” he points to the sky, “the moon is so perfect right now.”

She bites her lip, her face flushed under the moonlight, “Yeah…”

Her hair is wild again and he wants to touch it. For a second, his heart hopes that if he was to tuck that stray lock behind her ear, that she would actually lean into his touch.

But as quickly as it came, he squashes it down.

“So,” she says as she interrupts his thoughts, “have you ever ridden a skateboard before?”

“Ha. No,” he says nervously, his fingers tangling together. But before he can say anything else, she’s dragging him down to the flat bottom of the pool .

Her fingers are searing his hand. “C’mon. I’ll teach you.”

Bog wants to protest, but she’s staring at him with gorgeous whiskey eyes and he sighs.

“Must be freakin’ magic in the air or something,” he mutters under his breath. Huffing a breath, he resigns, “Okay, what do I do?”

She places the skateboard down and hops on for a second. “Okay, first point your feet sideways and try to stand over the trucks or the wheels, kay?”

She hops off and he slowly gets on, grabbing her shoulder to balance himself, but he manages to get on. “Now turn your feet in a way that feels most comfortable.” She grabs the back of his jacket, “Don’t worry, dude. I got you.”

He tries to laugh, but he feels out of his element. He does manage to turn his feet though.

“Huh. You’re goofy, then.”

“Is that a bad thing?” he blurts out.

She pats his back, “Nah, just means you push with your left.”

He doesn’t say anything, deciding it’s best to wait for instruction.

“Okay, now I’m going to roll you by pushing you. That way you can see how it feels to move.”

And then she starts pushing him forward and he’s gripping his shoulder tighter, but he’s finding this balance. Kinda like a snowboard.

“So,” he says as he licks his lips, “this isn’t so bad.”

“Oh, good,” she replies and he can hear the smile in her voice. “Because I let go, so give yourself a little push.”

His breath hitches as he looks over his shoulder and she’s grinning at him a few feet behind him. Panic washes over him quicker than he can think and he’s tumbling to the ground in seconds.

He hears her shout his name as he lands on his side, knocking the air out of him, the skateboard zooming off in some direction. He rolls to lay flat on his back, the concrete like ice, but soothing.

Her footsteps echo in the pool  and she’s by his side in a second. “Bog, are you okay?” She’s checking his arms, her fingers skimming over his face and his head. “I am so sorry. I just thought—” she rambles, guilt painting her features as her fingers glide over his skin.

His skin is tingling and his voice feels thick. He catches her hands in his own, “I’m good, Tough Girl.” He sits up and gives her hands a squeeze, reassuring her, “Really Marianne. Fit as a fiddle.”

She lets out a shaky breath and leans her forehead against his shoulder. “Oh thank god you aren’t as brittle as you look.”

“Hey!” he grumbles, about to start on a tirade that he’s really not that old, but his breath is caught.

She’s cupping his face, her fingers smooth against his prickly stubble. Her eyes are so soft, still full of worry, “You didn’t hit your head, right?”

His heart is twisting in his chest, his stomach flip-flopping. It has been so long since he’s felt such electricity with someone, the mere touch sending jolts through all his bones. She’s so close.

He shudders, his heart pounding against his ribs, “Yeah.”

Her whisper is breathy, but she’s not letting go, “Good.”

Gingerly, he pulls himself to her, closing the space between them. One hand presses at the small of her back, the other frames her face, his thumb caressing her cheek.

She’s leaning in closer, they’re almost touching.  Still he has to ask, his voice shy. “Can I kiss you?”

She giggles nervously and ducks her head, “…yeah.”

He bites his lips, feeling drunk off this feeling, feeling drunk off her sudden shyness. But he guides her back to face him and her whiskey eyes. His face feels red and his heart is jumping, but he doesn’t hesitant.

He presses his lips against hers, soft and slow, feeling the jolts between them shock him. Yet she doesn’t pull away, but instead brings him closer, her hand drifting up the back of his neck to rake through his hair. He kisses her harder, a moan escaping her as he tastes her and his head starts to buzz. She’s sweet and soft, her tongue warm, her teeth sharp as she nips him.

They are pressed so close, but it still feels like there is too much space between them. His chest is swelling, becoming tight with unknown emotion. That leaves him more breathless than the kissing.  

Marianne’s hair is soft underneath his fingers as he runs his fingers through those locks. He touches her scalp a bit when she pulls away, giggling, “Don’t do that.”

“Sorry,” he whispers, resting his forehead against hers, trying to catch his breath.

She grins and cups his cheek again. “It’s okay.” She takes a deep breath, her voice light, “I really like this.”

He hugs her a little tighter. “Me too.” He shrugs, chuckling, “A little fast, but hey.”

And she throws her head back, her laugh echoing throughout the park. After a few minutes, she calms down and rests her head in the crook of his neck, her frame still shaking with mirth. “No kidding, right? Definitely surprised me.”

He’s pulling them up now, his legs having gone numb from where they sat. “Surprised you? Surprised me! I thought everyone was asleep.”

She sways a bit from side to side, tucking that unruly lock away again, “Well, what can I say? I’m a free spirit?”

He pinches her side playfully, “No need to word it like a question. You shimmied down a drain pipe.”

She lets go, looking for her skateboard off to the side. Her voice is a bit higher so he can hear her. “Despite that Roland’s an idiot,” she groans, “his dad and my dad are close. And the three of them have been going on this _man trip_  right before Christmas every year since I was in high school.”

He whistles low, “And that’s why your ex is sleeping downstairs?”

She hops on the board and rolls forward, reaching for him. “Yep. They’re leaving at 5 a.m. to go fishing for a few days.”

He catches her hand and she rolls in a circle around him, “Well, that doesn’t sound too bad. You seem to be handling it better than others.”  

“Mmmm,” she hums. “It was actually driving me nuts earlier, but for  _some reason_ ,” she adds emphasis to the words while looking him, “I feel a lot better.”

He grins,“I wonder why.”  

She hops off the board and walks towards him, poking him in the chest. She parrots, “I wonder why.”

He grabs her hand and presses it to his lips. Tenderly, he says, “I’m sorry it had to end.” Whispering, he adds, “Breakups are never easy.”

Marianne swallows thick, but smiles small, “No, it’s not…But it’s okay.”

He presses another kiss, “Really?”

She nods her head and steals his hand, press her lips to his fingers in turn. “Because I got to meet you instead.”

And in this moment, he can feel his heart melting. Again, he thinks that there has to be magic in the air. This night is too good to be real.

“Have I mentioned that I like you?” he whispers as he leans into her again.

She leans in, too, grinning, “No, but I had a feeling.”

He smiles, too, his heart filled to bursting for the first time years. He’s about to kiss her when a light shines on their faces and two men in uniform are standing before them.

“Are you aware that two of you are trespassing?”

* * *

They find the ladder in the shed out back.

“I can’t believe they thought we were drunk,” she gushes as she climbs up.  

He follows after, “I’m just glad we didn’t get arrested.”

“…yeah. That’s good too.”

They’re on her roof, sitting side by side.

“Hey,” he starts softly, pulling her close for a hug, “can I see you tomorrow?”

She returns his embrace, “Like a date?”

Bog smiles and buries his nose in her hair, pressing a kiss to her temple, “Like on a date.”  

They stay there a bit longer, relishing in the fact that they are only two souls awake in the world. 


End file.
